


Day 5: Back To The Future Day

by ninwrites



Series: Malec Week 2K16 [5]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Shadowhunter Chronicles Fusion, Circle Runes, Confusion, Downworlder Tension, Gen, Identity Issues, M/M, Malec Week, Malec Week 2016, Robert Lightwood Being an Asshole, Self Confidence Issues, The Circle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 07:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7791868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninwrites/pseuds/ninwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Alec met Magnus in a different time setting, say around the time of the Circle, TID or TLH takes place or even before that. Or Alec accidently ends up in the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 5: Back To The Future Day

Alec Lightwood is only fifteen when he joins the Circle.

Back then, it went by a different name. Back then, there was no red runes burned into their skin, no 'Valentine's Army', no bloodshed or slaughter.

Back then, they called themselves 'The Nephilim Republic of Shadowhunters Against Lesser Beings' (it was a working title); with the sole purpose of reinforcing the long-held belief that Downworlders should be held to an inferior placement in comparison with Shadowhunters. After all, they'd been taught their whole lives, that those whose blood came from angels were undoubtedly better than those with the ichor of demons.

For, back then, it was whole-heartedly believed that Downworlder blood was not the same as the Nephilim's.

Legends told that the Fey dripped shimmering quicksilver, that the vampires blood was transparent, almost translucent, only altering shades when full of vitalic mindane blood - though some doubted they bled at all. The werewolves blood was dark, warped and twisted, thinner and unhealthy, a clear sign of the disease that plagued them.

And where Nephilim bled bright, jewelled red, the warlocks supposedly bled black and smooth, like ink - on account of them being the closest of all Downworlders to demons, and so it was only feesable that their blood matched.

Naturally, the Nephilim declared that, at the very least, the difference in blood type equalled a problem with Downworlders and, as a result, they were held to a lower standard.

Back then, it was simple. They were only abiding by the values they'd been taught.

And for a small amount of time, that had been fine. For most.

 

* * *

 

"Come on Alec, you need to be quicker if you expect to live."

Alec lunges, gleaming seraph blade in hand, only to catch the fabric of his cousin's jacket. It didn't even tear.

"You've had your runes for nearly four years now, surely you know how to fight as a Shadowhunter should?"

His cousin - second-cousin, technically - Robert swings his own seraph blade in an almost bored manner. Within seconds, Alec, and his blade, are on the floor, with Robert looking down disappointedly.

"If you keep fighting like a kid, you'll be kicked out of the Circle." Robert exclaims, his eyes genuine but unsympathetic. "We need warriors, not weaklings."

Alec presses his lips together firmly, pushing himself up. Robert holds out his hand, and Alec hands over the seraph blade dejectedly. He doesn't look at Robert - he doesn't need to feel the disappointment in waves.

"Don't worry about him too much." Alec looks up, as Robert's _parabatai_ Michael walks over. "He's just dealing with his own issues at the moment. Not that he should be taking it out on you, but - well, it's Robert."

Michael Wayland is a calm and reserved person, and that is part of the reason why Alec likes him so much. That, and Michael has always been nice to him, even more so when his own family wasn't.

"He's right, though." Alec replies, putting the blame on himself, as he always does. "I should be better at this."

"He's also a lot older than you. And, dare I say it, he's helped by - well, me. By having a _parabatai_."

Alec frowns. "I wish I had a _parabatai_." His resolve steels. "It shouldn't matter, though. If I want to be a Shadowhunter I should be able to fight as one."

Michael sighs, obviously understanding that trying to change Alec's mind would be a futile waste of time.

"I'm always around if you want extra help." Michael offers, knowing it's likely Alec won't accept it.

"I think I'll just train for a bit more," Alec says, glancing towards the archery targets. "But, thank you - for the offer."

"That's fine." Michael smiles encouragingly. "Just, try not to over-exert yourself."

Alec nods, but Michael is fairly sure that he's already stopped listening.

 

* * *

 

"Sit down."

Alec sighs and does as he's told, making it very clear that he's not happy with the request. Lucian - Luke to most - Graymark is tall and well-built, imposing to the presence with an undeniable heart of gold and a pleasant demeanour, when he wants to be.

He's also Valentine Morgenstern's _parabatai_ , and although he's always been kind to Alec, he's also incredibly intimidating all on his own - nevermind when you add the leader and founder of the NRSALB into the equation.

(Alec really hopes they change the name soon.)

"Spill." Luke orders, his eyes kind but the thin line of his mouth unwavering.

Alec settles in the chair, but doesn't open his mouth. Just because he'd willingly come to the cafeteria of the Academy at Luke's request, doesn't mean he has to be complacent in the situation.

He's here. Doesn't mean he has to talk.

"Look, Alec, I know that you're nearly sixteen and you feel like you have to act tough - especially in front of Robert - but you don't always have to pretend."

Luke's trying, to be kind and helpful, and Alec understands that. But he's wasting his time if he thinks he'll get anything out of Alec.

"I'm not pretending." He quickly shuts down the idea. "I don't even know what you're talking about."

Luke's mouth twitches, but he doesn't roll his eyes like Alec expects. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and slides across a thin, brown paper bag.

"I've learnt not to trust the food here," Luke explains. "So I usually bring my own."

Alec peers at the bag suspiciously.

"It's all yours," Luke adds. "If you want it. No questions asked."

Alec still doesn't trust the situation, but his curiosity has been spiked and now it's a lot harder to ignore. So he hesitantly takes a peek. Inside the bag is a small packet of dried fruit and two white-chocolate and cranberry biscuits. Alec's heard about the infamous Graymark biscuit recipe. He's heard a lot of good things.

"This is bribery." He announces.

Luke shrugs. "You can talk to me if that is what you want to do. But I'm not forcing you to do anything. I'm simply offering you food."

Alec frowns, still staring at the bag. The food at the Academy is notoriously horrible, and Alec hasn't eaten anything with actual flavour in weeks. His mouth is practically watering at the sight, and he has no doubt that was Luke's plan all along.

Still. Luke did say 'no questions asked'.

Alec reaches out and takes the bag, ignoring Luke's triumphant smile.

"I don't have anything to say." Alec replies, clutching the bag in his hand. "However, I will take your gift with gratitude."

This time Luke really does roll his eyes, and for a moment Alec finds himself almost smiling. The glee is short-lived, however, and he isn't left with much time to even consider experincing it.

Robert's hand is tight and unforgiving as it clamps down on his shoulder.

"Alec. Stop bothering Luke, you have work to do."

Alec looks down, automatically, as though he'd done something wrong - even though he knew they hadn't.

"Alec wasn't bothering me." Luke protests, but Alec doubts Robert is even paying attention.

"Hodge is waiting for you in the West library." Robert tells Alec. "You'd best hurry to meet him. Otherwise he's just wasting his time tutoring you instead of studying himself."

Alec nods, silently, and stands up. He swiftly hides the bag in his pocket before Robert can see, a slight act of internal rebellion. Luke grins at him, momentarily, and it ignites the flicker of a flame inside his chest, at doing something worth a grin.

"Next time, Alec." Luke says, waving at him.

Robert frowns in confusion, and Alec dazedly nods, acting for the most part as though he doesn't understand what Luke is talking about.

He trusts Luke, knows he will be there if Alec needs someone to talk to. Michael, too. But Alec doesn't like confessing anything to other people, because it means he's shifting his burdens onto somebody else who doesn't need or deserve it.

If he keeps it to himself he can appear strong and stoic, as a Shadowhunter should, as Robert expects him to be.

As the Shadowhunter that Robert expects him to be.

 

* * *

 

Alec trains harder, sometimes for hours longer than he needs to, and he gets better. He gets good enough that Robert stops chastising him and instead, seems to appear almost proud of Alec now. Even Valentine has smiled at him a few times, here and there, which provides him with the same feeling recieving his first long-bow did.

His life becomes a spinning record of training and studying and occasionally food, when he can remember to eat. He doesn't have friends outside of the Circle - as they've started to call themselves - and even then, they seem to take pity on him more than actually liking him.

But Alec is a Shadowhunter, emotions mean nothing to him. They're just obstacles he has to learn to push past, to control until they don't affect him. Or at least until it doesn't feel like they're affecting him.

The less time he spends on his emotions, the more time he has to spend on becoming the best Shadowhunter he can be.

A Shadowhunter worthy of being in the Circle.

The thing is, Alec doesn't really understand the themes behind the Circle and Valentine's plight for - justice?

Valentine thinks that Downworlders should be treated "as the scum they are", to put it simply, and despises the idea of the Accords and everything they 'allow' the Downworlders. Alec personally hasn't met enough - or really any - Downworlders to really make a judgement on them, but surely they can't be that bad? Excepting the fey, all Downworlders are half-human like Shadowhunters are. Surely that counts for something?

Not in the eyes of Valentine. His plight is a central idea that appears to be mostly supported by members of the Circle, or at least, those with the fresh red circle runes marking their allegiance to Valentine's cause.

Alec is yet to receive his rune. He's too young, apparently - as though his seventeen years is so far from Hodge's nineteen.

Part of him thinks that it's just an excuse for Robert to belittle Alec because of his age. The other part of him wonders if it's because he's not even sure if he wants to properly join the Circle yet. The circle rune is permanent. It's possible he's not ready for that kind of committment just yet.

He wants to see what Downworlders are like for himself before he decides that they're evil. Not that he's sure when he'll ever get the chance.

 

* * *

 

Turns out Alec's chance to make up his own opinion on Downworlders arrives a lot sooner than he expects.

"Hey, Alec. Gear up."

Alec fumbles as Michael throws across his stele. His instinctual reflexes are the only things that save him from looking like a fool in front of the older Shadowhunter.

"Gear up?" Alec echoes.

Michael nods, tightening the leather strap on his vest. He's already slipped two knifes into the accompanying holders.

"There's been reports of a group of rogue werewolves a couple of miles out. The Clave are trying to work out an amicable solution, but Valentine insists that we handle it ourselves. And he's given you the green light to come along too."

Alec stares, eyes wide, at the realisation he'll be able to get some real, actual experience instead of built-scenarios and 'what-if' run-throughs.

"What about Robert?" He asks, before he can let his hopes get up too high.

Michael smirks. "Robert's busy at dinner with Maryse Trueblood and her family. By the time he finds out, you'll already be back."

"I thought you weren't supposed to keep secrets from your _parabatai_." Alec can't help the grin that spreads. A mission, a real mission! Without Robert breathing down his neck, criticising his every move, every swipe, even how shiny the metal of his weapons are.

"I'm not keeping anything from him. I'm just not telling him _yet._ I'll tell him _later_."

Michael stares exaggeratedly. Alec, getting the hint, mimes zipping his mouth and throwing away the key.

"Luke's coming too," Michael says, as Alec stands up from his desk. His Demonology work can wait, Hodge will surely understand.

"Anyone else?" Alec asks, shutting the lid of his Codex.

"Nope. Just the three of us."

Alec nods, trying to keep the delight from crossing onto his face. He's finally going to get some real experience, in the field - _out there_ , so to speak - where he'll be trusted to actually keep up, like ... like a _real_ Shadowhunter.

"Meet us at the old fountain in seven minutes. Apply as many runes as you can - _Fortis_ , _Agility_ , _Nyx_ , _Thermis_ , maybe even a _Mendelin_ to be on the safe side. Werewolves can be unpredictable, so it's best to be as prepared as possible."

"Will do." Alec nods, tempering his emotions so they're better controlled.

In a few hours, he'll be able to properly refer to himself as a Shadowhunter, a proper warrior. Time to start acting like it.

 

* * *

 

"Fall in. Don't speak."

Alec nods, following Luke and Michael's lead. He's bringing up the rear, with Michael at the front. All three have their seraph blades named and glowing, and Alec's bow is slung around his shoulder. He's not sure what they're going to run into - how many werewolves there is going to be, how vicious they are.

Alec doesn't even really know what they've done. Just that they're 'rogue' and need to be punished for whatever crimes they've reportedly committed.

He's only seventeen, he's not supposed to question his elders.

They make it a few miles in silence before Alec picks up on a low rustling sound. It's barely audible, but his freshly-applied runes make it easier to catch the sound. That, and they're all wearing _Soundless_ runes, so it can't be from any of them.

"Can you hear that? East, by about six metres." He keeps his voice as low as possible.

Michael holds up a hand, cautioning them all to wait. After a few seconds he nods, gesturing towards the direction Alec had indicated.

"Luke, you go right. Alec, stick behind me. Nobody make any moves until we can ascertain how many are here and what the right course of action is."

Alec and Luke nod, and then they're stalking off carefully in their own direction, eyes continuously scanning the area around them for anything that isn't supposed to be there, something that wasn't there before.

"Do you know how to deal with these creatures?" Michael asks, in a low, almost hiss-like whisper.

"No," Alec breathes out. _Creatures? Deal with?_ They're just werewolves - rogue, sure, but that should just mean that they get ... questioned, or something.

"Aim to disarm as quickly as possible. Attack them before they get a chance to attack _you_."

Alec feels a frozen shiver race down his spine. There's something incredibly _wrong_ about Michael's comment, but Alec can't quite distinguish what, exactly, it is. He shakes his head, minutely, shaking his disturb off as well.

He has a job to do. That _has_ to be his main focus.

His seraph blade is in his left hand, his left hand itching near his shoulder, ready to pull at his bow within a few seconds.

Then he hears a noise behind him, a slow rustling. He turns around, expecting to see a giant werewolf, foaming at the mouth and staring with blood-red eyes, like he'd been told. Instead, he sees only vacant spaces between sprawling trees.

He's barely turned back around, when he hears it. The low, rumbing howl of a werewolf.

"Alec! Watch out!" Michael shouts, but a second later he's busy fighting off two werewolves, one with fine, copper fur, the other with fur as dark as the sky above them, slick and shiny.

Alec hooks his seraph blade into his belt and pulls an arrow out from his quiver, notching it into the string of his bow. He draws, faster than it takes him to blink, and spins, looking out for any assailants. Any werewolves who'd turned up are too busy fighting against Michael, and from what Alec can see Luke, a few metres away. But none of them are near him, and he doesn't quite know what to do. Is he supposed to just run at the werewolves and fight whatever one he comes into contact with?

The decision is made for him when he feels a hot phantom hand wrap around his wrist. He looks down, but there's no one there, yet he's unable to move his wrist for the tight resistance.

"Oh look at that. I caught a Shadowhunter."

The heat of the phantom hold wraps further up his arm, around his shoulders, wrapping against his chest and binding his hands up against his collarbone, his bow awkwardly jutting into his neck. He struggles against the imaginary bonds, attempting to break free, but the harder he tries to break away, the tighter the bonds grow.

"Come, little Nephilim."

The words are whispered, airy, travelling along the wind and into his ears. Before Alec even gets a chance to see who's talking, his feet fall out from beneath him and the world drops away until he's soaked in blissful darkness.

 

* * *

 

Alec's first thought, when he returns to consciousness, is that Robert will be deeply ashamed that he managed to get kidnapped on his first mission.

His second thought is _by Raziel, I've been kidnapped._

There's a weight on his chest, like a boulder is resting on his ribs, and try as he might he can't move his limbs. At all. The phantom grip is still there, wrapped around his body. He can breathe, just, but it's not an entirely pleasant experience. It feels, kind of, like he's on a chair, or something similair - a stool, maybe - but he's a little too scared to open his eyes and find out, for fear of what he might actually end up seeing.

He hears a willowy sound, like a gentle gust of air, and on instinct, his body stiffens.

"You're very young for a Circle member."

Alec shivers involuntarily, but keeps his eyes and mouth closed. He doesn't know where he is, or who's kidnapped him, so it's safer to wait for any clues that can help him before he opens himself up to any more vulnerability.

He feels surprisingly warm breath ghosting across his cheek.

"No rune though ... interesting."

This time Alec pulls back, flinching. There's a moment of silence, and when - his kidnapper? - speaks again, it's with a softer, kinder tone.

"How old are you?"

"E-Eighteen," Alec lies. Technically, he will be soon. In four months.

"Why won't you open your eyes?"

Alec frowns. That wasn't the question he'd been expecting.

"Why would I?" He retorts, instead.

He hears a soft, almost laughter-like sound. "Are you afraid of me?"

"No," Alec denies, although his voice is shaky and apprehensive.

"Then why won't you open your eyes?"

Frustrated, and a little irritated, Alec forces past his fear and opens his eyes. The fact that he is, in fact, on a chair only hits him because he flails, causing it to rock slightly. In front of him is a man, who at first glance can't be that much older than Michael or Robert, but whose eyes speak of eternal wisdom and knowledge.

His hair is styled in a bright pink-streaked Mohawk, his gleaming cat-eyes lined with kohl and silver eyeshadow. There are small gold earings rimming up the side of his left ear, the right decorated with a snake cuff at the top and a larger hoop that reminds Alec of the mundanes he'd been told about, the ones who had commandeered the sea and swam with mermaids, their ships dripping with treasure and gold.

Also, for some inexplicable reason, the man's lips are painted an electric blue, pulled up into a devilish smirk.

Alec's mind betrays him by noting the man's attractiveness, a factor he hastily pushes aside. There's no doubt to the reasoning behind the slitted golden eyes.

He's been kidnapped by a warlock.

The warlock makes a soft, breathy kind of noise - a sound Alec doesn't think he's actually ever heard before.

"Who are you?" Alec demands, trying to keep his voice as firm as possible. He doesn't succeed very well, but he thinks he does okay.

Apparently the warlock doesn't.

"That's sweet. But you don't have to act tough. It's just the two of us here."

 _'Here'_ turns out to be an oddly decorated loft that strangely reflects the eccentricity of the warlock. The curtains are a translucent black, the floor an odd patchwork of wood pannels and bright, mismatched rugs. There's the usual furniture one would expect inside an apartment - letting Alec know that this is, in fact, the warlock's home. or at the very least a place of residence.

He even spots a turntable off to the side, with a record waiting to be played. There's a turntable in the faculty lounge of the Academy, but he's never heard it being used before. For a second, curiosity takes the reigns and he wonders what it would sound like - the record itself doesn't matter, but the scratch of the record in the player...

Alec squashes his curiosity almost as fast as it appears. Now is not the time to wonder about the inventions of the mundane race.

To fix his, frankly rookie mistake, Alec tries to force as much heat into a slow blink as possible.

"Oh, okay," The warlock sighs heavily, leaning back.

He's sitting on a chair, pulled up so that his knees are almost brushing Alec's. The rest of his ensemble includes a baggy, oversized light pink shirt that falls off his shoulders, revealing his collarbone and far too much chest for Alec's brain to handle, and ridiculously tight leather pants with artful tears that certainly _don't_ affect Alec in _any_ way.

"Magnus Bane. You may have heard of me."

Alec racks his brain, but try as he might the name doesn't click. He shakes his head, taking slight amusement when Magnus pouts.

"High Warlock of Brooklyn." Magnus continues, only to be faced with a blank stare.

"Seriously. Nothing?" He asks, almost desperately at this point.

Alec shakes his head. Part of him wants to say sorry, out of habit, but he restrains himself. This warlock doesn't deserve his apology.

Magnus sighs, leaning back with his elbows on his knees.

"Shame. I'm guessing you Shadowhunters don't really get out much, then."

 _Get out?_ This is the first mission he's been on ... surely this warlock isn't making fun of him?

"Why did you kidnap me?" Alec asks, his voice thankfully a little sturdier than the last time he'd tried to speak.

"Very blunt, aren't we? I suppose breaking-the-ice activities are out of the question."

Alec has to physically grit his teeth to keep from screaming out at how frustrated this pointless back-and-forth is.

"Just give me the answers I want, _warlock_."

He doesn't mean to spit the title in the degrading way he does, it just slips out, accidentally. Not that 'accidentally' is really an excuse.

Magnus' eyes darken, like the passing of a storm over a previously calm sky.

"I don't have to give you anything, _Nephilim_."

With a flourish, he stands up, glaring at Alec with the heat of a millions suns. There's a crackling sound, as he summons blue fire into the center of his palm. Despite the glitter and the pink of his hair, Alec has seen little so intimidating.

"I will provide you with the answers you want when you learn to ask them with the manners I'm sure you were brought up with."

Then there's a clap, like a bolt of thunder, and Magnus spins on the heels of his silver Doc Martens and storms off, leaving behind the scent of burnt sugar to the air.

Well. Alec's royally screwed now.

 

* * *

 

Magnus doesn't return for a few hours, and during the time of his abscence Alec tries to find something to amuse himself with. Unfortunately, there's not a lot to do when you're magically restrained to a chair with invisible - and unbreakable - bonds.

Even the four or so consecutive scans around the room does little to provide Alec with the intel he needs. An escape route seems incredibly unlikely, but there's not much in terms of Magnus' character either. His eccentrism is clear, but there are artefacts and objects from centuries past, still in pristine condition - a fair sign that Magnus is of a fair age.

By the time Magnus returns, all Alec has been able to come up with is that, providing the view from outside the window is not a glamour, they're in Brooklyn, and that whilst Magnus is unusual, certainly, he's also very wise - and very dangerous.

Not a particuarly good sign for Alec.

Magnus' eyes are hard and unforgiving, his steps firm and purposeful. Alec, subconsciously gulps. Before today, he'd never seen a warlock, and it's evident that he'd greatly underestimated how powerful and intimidating they can be. He can see now, in the tight line of Magnus' mouth and the crackling of sparks dancing across his fingers, why there is such a divide between Shadowhunters and Downworlders.

For Shadowhunters may have weapons and runes engraved on their skin, but Downworlders have powers of their own - warlock's especially, so it seems, have magic of boundless lengths and core strength.

He almost begins to doubt Valentine's determination for his 'cause', when a chastising voice that sounds a lot like his second-cousin berates him for even considering such treacherous thoughts.

By the time his mind centers back on reality, Magnus has returned to his previous position on the chair, arms folded and ankles crossed as he leans back casually on the chair.

"Now that you've had some time to yourself, have you rethought your method of questioning?" Magnus inquires.

There's a strange lightness to his eyes, if Alec looks close enough, as though all he has to do to see Magnus' real emotions is peel away the curtain of 'tough warlock' exterior. For a split-second he wonders if, perhaps, Magnus' magic was a facade, to appear more powerful than it is.

But then Magnus' golden eyes flash, a small fire appearing within each, and Alec's reminded that he is, all technicalities considered, a prisoner in the warlock's home.

"Why did you kidnap me?" He asks, again, a lot quieter this time - not any less stressed, but certainly nicer in comparison to how he'd previously asked the question.

"I thought you were a member of Valentine's Army. The infamous _Circle_." Magnus admits, shrugging a shoulder, almost as though the reason itself is tedious and unworthy of his bother.

"I am." Alec states. Magnus' eyes widen, slightly, almost imperceptibly. He seems to be goading Alec, questioning his statement whilst daring him to fire back.

"You're a member of the Circle." Magnus echoes, sounding for the most part as though he'd have a better time believing Alec was born yesterday.

"I will be," Alec ammends, a thread of irritation bleeding into his tone. "I'm ... an honorary member. I'm due to receive my rune any day now."

Technically, he's not lying - he doesn't know what his stance within the group is, or whem he'll receive the rune. But he knows he's valued, to some degree, and that it can't be too long before he gets the permanent marking etched into his skin.

All regards to whether he even wants it aside.

Magnus presses his lips together firmly, appearing for the most part to be concealing derisive laughter.

Alec wishes he could move, if even so that he can express how annoyed he is.

"Why were you out last night then?" Magnus asks. "If you're still without proper membership."

"I was given permission to aid with the ... investigation of a pack of rogue werewolves."

Magnus' eyes darken dangerously. "Rogue?"

Alec jerks his head down and up, as far as the binds will allow. "The Clave were supposedly trying to work out a solution, but they take too long to get anything done. Valentine _himself_ said that I could-"

There's a crashing sound, and Alec winces automatically. When he opens his eyes, Magnus is pacing in front of him, the chair he'd been sitting on lying in chunks of splintered wood.

 _"Valentine-"_ He hisses, his gaze everywhere but Alec. Alec strains to hear what else Magnus is mumbling, but all he can pick up on is a continuous stream of furious sounds.

The bonds get tighter the faster Magnus paces, the weight on Alec's chest heavier with each fall of the flashy boots. At first, he manages to hide the tightness to his chest, but it doesn't take long for the lack of oxygen entering his lungs to become a serious problem.

Fortunately, Magnus is tuned into the real world enough to notice when Alec's breathing becomes raggard and gasping.

The magical restraints ease away immediately, air flooding into Alec's lungs, overloading him in an attempt to compensate for what was lost. His body is trembling, head to feet to fingers, like he's been struck by lightning, and there's a constant vibrating hum beneath his skin.

He closes his eyes, more to center himself than anything else. His breathing, despite being laboured, is slowly beginning to even itself out. However, his highly-elevated senses and the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins puts him on red-alert, and he almost jerks away when he feels a cool hand on his forehead. A pleasant, pulsing warmth spreads out from the point of contact, lulling him into a serene state.

"I just realised," He hears Magnus mutter, the sound swimming around him, like a bar of musical notes, travelling into his ear and wrapping around his mind. "I don't even know your name."

"A-Alec," He manages to mumble out, before he's, once again, left drowning in a peculiar swarm of darkness. This time, however, the fall is accompanied with an odd sense of safety and comfort - this time he doesn't mind the slip out of consciousness.

 

* * *

 

The second time Alec is brought back from unconsciousness is a lot nicer than the first. For one, he's not magically bound to a chair. Actually, from everything he can tell - which is admittedly not a lot - he's lying on a mattress or something equally as comfortable.

There's a similair blanket of warmth surrounding him, a substantial relief in comparison to the restriction of the magical binds, but he's still a little unsure as to whether opening his eyes will be safe or not.

He doesn't feel as scared as he had before, perhaps because he isn't tied up, but the fact of the situation is he's still trapped in the loft of a powerful warlock - a High Warlock, as it so happens - and that isn't something he can just easily brush off.

"Alec?"

Apparently, his alertness is not something that goes unnoticed. Alec deliberates his options for a few seconds before settling on opening his eyes as the best course of action. When he does, the first thing he sees is Magnus, staring at him patiently with concern and apprehension clear in his expression.

Strange, in respect to how they'd both acted towards each other previously.

"W-what," _What happened, what are you doing, what changed your mind?_

"I panicked." Magnus cuts in. "My magic was affected and - and so were you. Unintentionally."

He looks down sheepishly, wringing his hands together. For the first time Alec notices the spread of rings adorning his fingers, ornate and intricate accessories that, somehow, just make sense in Alec's mind, make sense in their place on Magnus' hands.

"I do apologise, Alec, deeply. I shouldn't have taken out my - _frustration_ \- on you." Magnus looks up, eyes a lot softer and gentler than Alec has ever seen them.

"It's okay," Alec says. Before he can even register his own thoughts the words are out, but he doesn't really mind. He does mean them, after all.

Magnus looks ready to protests, but he presses his lips together and nods, firmly, as though he's trying to reassure himself that Alec has made the right decision. Alec glances around, to try and ascertain where he's been moved to.

"Where am I?" He asks, absently, taking in the dark ruby and gold-patterned sheets, the matching gilded drapes of what appears to be a _huge_ four-poster bed - far too big for one person, let alone-

 _Enough._ Alec cuts off the train of thought before it can extend to inappropriate places.

"My, uh," Magnus actually looks ... embarrassed. Weird. "My bedroom. And my bed, actually. After I - _sent you to sleep_ \- I brought you in here. Certainly more comfortable than a wooden chair. I also healed you - I hope that's not a problem."

Alec shakes his head even as Magnus' words are still sinking in. There's a reason why he feels more rejuvenated, why he feels for the most part as though he has slept for a solid eight hours. Magnus had used his magic to heal him, to take away any wounds, to take away fatigue and negative impacts on his body. Even muscles that had ached from training feel as smooth as melted butter.

For practically his whole life, Alec has heard that warlock's never give, only take. They exchange their services for treasures and cheat their clients with weak spells, and curse anyone who look at them wrong. They never heal, only injure, never help, only destroy.

Magnus had, admittedly kidnapped him. But he'd also healed him, and set him up inside of his own bed, and waited for him to wake up. There's so many things he could have done, but he hadn't.

It's a near blasphemous thought, and one Alec wouldn't dare to speak aloud - at least, not yet. But in the safety of his own mind, he allows himself to consider that perhaps Valentine is wrong. Perhaps warlocks - and even Downworlders - aren't as bad as the assumptions would make them believe.

"Thank you." Alec says, nothing but authenticity in his tone.

Magnus smiles and rubs the back of his neck, almost shyly. "You're welcome."

Alec smiles too, and he phsyically feels the shift in the air. He doesn't see Magnus as a villanous Downworlder anymore, or even purely a warlock. He's a person, with emotions and thoughts and cares and worries, just like Alec. And he's not evil, he's - he's actually rather nice, and kind.

"I wish things were different," He admits, almost absentmindedly.

"What things?" Magnus questions.

"Just, things," Alec waves his hands in a vague and entirely unhelpful gesture. "Life. Us."

"Us?" Magnus smiles teasingly. "You wish we were different?"

Alec closes his eyes frustratedly and ignores the heat creeping up his neck. "I meant ... I wish that we weren't ... on opposite sides."

"We don't have to be," Magnus says, cautiously, his voice quiet and still kind.

"But - but I'm a Shadowhunter, and you're - you're a warlock, a Downworlder. I don't-"

"From what I can gather, Alec, you don't really care about what race either of us belong to. You don't despise the very existence of Downwordlers and you care little for the foreboding war threatening to divide us all. Correct me if I am wrong, but-"

"You're not-" Alec swallows, forcing himself to look at Magnus. "You're not wrong."

Magnus shuffles closer on the bed, until he's close enough that Alec can see the individual flecks of glitter on his eyelids. He blinks, almost assessing the situation before reaching out and tangling his fingers with Alec's.

Alec breathes in sharply, and for a second he and Magnus lock eyes, Magnus assessing what to do next. Fortunately, Alec quickly recovers from his surprise and relaxes, daring to squeeze Magnus' hand.

He's never dated, never kissed or even held hands with anyone before. He's still trying to figure himself out, trying to figure out whether he does actually like guys or whether it's just his teenage hormones messing with his brain.

He doesn't have the answers yet, but he does know that he likes Magnus, and at least while he's figuratively being kept hostage - he has no doubt, now, Magnus would let him leave if he asked - he's going to take advantage of the situation that has been handed to him.

"I've never - I've never done, done anything like ... this-"

Alec stutters, trips and stumbles over his own words in his haste to get them out, but thankfully Magnus seems to understand what he's trying to say.

"We're just holding hands, Alec." Magnus reminds him. "We're not doing anything scandulous, nor do we have any obligation to. We can just sit here and hold hands, if you'd like."

"What if," Alec fidgets with his free hand, toying with the thread of the covers. "What if we did ... more. Than just hold hands, I mean."

Magnus blinks slowly, and Alec feels his heart increase speed inside his chest, a burst of adrenaline and anticipation pumping out. He wonders if he's made a mistake, said or done the wrong thing without realising it.

"Alec, I don't - I don't want you to feel as though you have to - to do _anything_ that you don't want."

Alec shakes his head. "I don't."He promises. "I mean I - I don't feel like I have to do anything, I - I _do_ want to."

He can't bring himself to say the _'k'_ word itself aloud, which should probably be taken as a sign that he's not ready to do it, but Magnus is looking at him like he's just discovered the secrets of the universe - like _Alec_ is a secret of the universe, the secret of happiness or the point of life itself.

"Are you sure?" Magnus asks.

Alec is hit with a surprising sense of frustration, that Magnus is so intent on making sure that Alec is okay, is sure, definitely wants to do this. He appreciates the concern, really, he does, but he's also _very sure_ that he wants to - to _kiss_ Magnus, and preferably as soon as possible.

"Certain." Alec states, and then forgoeing all sensible thought he tugs on their joined hands and brings Magnus closer.

However his mind short-circuits before either of them can make contact and he halts, lips barely inches away from Magnus'. Their breaths ghost across each other's faces and Alec is sure it should feel stranger than it actually does.

"Would you like me to make the first move?" Magnus asks, smiling.

Alec nods, the movement causing his mouth to brush slightly against Magnus'. He gasps, from the sheer surprise, and before he can react Magnus leans in and nothing else matters.

Magnus' mouth is soft against his, patient and gentle, and despite worrying about how bad at it he is, Alec finds himself enjoying the kiss. He's fully aware that he's horrible at it himself, that he's painfully new at kissing and Magnus has no-doubt kissed a lot of people who were better at it, but at the same time Magnus isn't really giving him a lot of space to think about it.

Magnus is a brilliant kisser. Alec knows very little about kissing, but he does know that Magnus is extremely good at it. His mouth is warm and slow, he doesn't try and force himself on Alec, but instead just patiently takes Alec through the movements, allows him to set the pace. He's kind, even doing this, and Alec's emotions are thoroughly all over the place, like a spinning top has slammed into his heart and sent his feelings spiralling outwards.

Even the dark part in the back of his mind where Robert's voice lives can't penetrate through the overwhelming sense of happiness taking over. It should feel wrong, kissing a guy, let alone a Downworlder, but it doesn't.

Nothing feels like kissing Magnus. Nothing has ever felt as good, either.

Screw the Circle, screw the Clave. Screw Valentine and his warped views and screw anyone who disagrees with Alec's life choices.

He likes Magnus, he likes _kissing_ Magnus, and that matters far more than the social divide between their races, far more than the difference in their abilities or DNA, far more than what other people think.

The only thing that matters is them, what they think and feel and desire. And right now, Alec thinks that he really wants to feel happy and kiss Magnus.

Preferably more than once.

**Author's Note:**

> no proper romanticism in this one, but who's to say I won't add to it?
> 
> I tried to express Alec's conflicts throughout the whole piece - not just 'oh hey now warlocks are fine and boys are cute'. I'd like to possibly continue this, so let me know if you'd like me to add some more :D 
> 
> (i'm thinking of writing Magnus' p.o.v for after this fic....) 
> 
> {ps I'm posting all these on my new [writing blog](http://malteser24.tumblr.com/)...}


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